Strength
by Andrometamorphose
Summary: Because all she ever wanted was him, but little girls always grow up...and dreams are just dreams...right? [sasusaku]


Strength 

A/N: Contains mild spoilers up to chapter 343, but **you can still read it even if you haven't read the manga up to that point** because the plot is pretty understandable and minor details are only taken.

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue

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All she ever wanted was one night –exactly one glance from him, exactly one smile from him, exactly one compliment from him, exactly one pat on the back from him, exactly one hug from him,

One whisper…

One love…

One _night_…

But of course, things never went her way, and so even exactly one glimpse of him was taken away from her.

Because he left.

Because she was too weak to stop him and she was never really good at words since that was Ino's talent and she was just the one who held Team 7 back and because that's what she was:

weak.

Because maybe saying 'I love you' wasn't alright for him; maybe it wasn't _good enough_ from someone who would only slow him –Sasuke –down on his quest for power.

Because Orochimaru would never be able to do anything with her –ever- since that's exactly what she was:

weak.

And maybe that's why she only deserved two words uttered from those godly lips –oh they could make a girl cry and squeal and blush in all the right places. In all the right times.

"Thank you."

Because she was too weak to deserve anything else, too stupid –god Sakura, you were always so stupid, inexperienced, so _naïve_ –to deserve anything else than pity and two even stupider ambiguous words that were worth nothing.

Just like her.

She was too innocent, too clean, too goddamn _fragile_ for him (yes, him –it was always for him) and everything she did was useless, worthless, helpless.

She was strong –yes, she could crush stone and granite into mere rubble and dust and break bones faster than she could heal her oh-so-masticated heart –but she was still weak. Weak from days and weeks and months of crying herself to sleep and never anytime else because she was Sakura –a chirpy, smart, happy-go-lucky, weak girl.

Because no matter how much she got stronger, how many times she brought fish back to life, how many times she healed shinobi with jet-black hair and endless pools of obsidian for eyes that she could just imagine drowning in and swimming and laughing and _living_ in, there was still a part of her that would find the urge to cry and slap herself silly whenever a handsome shinobi who had traces of _that_ smirk or _that_ look flirted with her, she couldn't help it.

She couldn't help the way she flirted back, fighting the cold hardness that would glaze over her eyes and just oh fucking _kill_ her stomach when that shinobi would ask her out for lunch or dinner in the most Sasuke-like way possible.

And then she would always decline in the most polite way possible, demure smile plastered all over her face and cracking at the edges and that flinty look in her eye becoming more visible and out there for all to see.

At the end of the day, she would act like nothing had happened because life was so much simpler and cleaner and better –so much that she would almost start to believe in the petty little lies that would start to choke her with their fine, thin strands of deceit.

The next morning, everything would be back to normal with the birds chirping and children's cries and roosters' crows as she would blearily get out of bed and haphazardly (why haphazardly? There was no one to look at her anymore). She would eventually give up trying to find that perfect outfit –a tradition she had started years ago when they were all twelve and innocent because let's face it –if Sasuke came back today, shouldn't he have come back yesterday when she was teasing all the men in the streets with her short shorts and black gloves? Or the day before, when she was happily arranging roses (in the wrong way, of course, because that was Ino's skill, not hers) with a disgruntled friend?

If he really wanted to, he could have come back before she hit fifteen, before she had entered the years of awkwardness and hips and breasts and zits that made her even clumsier than before.

He could have come back to protect that sheltered little girl who was now playing grown-up in a grown-up body.

If he had wanted to, of course.

But he didn't, because he never loved her and maybe in a dark corner of her mind, she didn't love him as much as she wanted to either because perhaps, it was like what she had once read in a dusty old book –that you can never love someone unless he or she learns to love themselves.

But she still loved him –as a friend, comrade, crush, and maybe in time if he came back and if she didn't give up hope (there were just too, too many ifs in life to even be counted), maybe her love could mature into something better –less flawed, less imperfect, less _weak_.

And she would grin to herself because there wasn't even a word to describe something stronger than love –'passion' and 'lust' and 'friendship' didn't quite name that much-sought after feeling.

But perhaps that was because no one had experienced that emotion yet.

If she could be the first one to have that feeling, then would she get stronger? Would that little girl who oh-so-loved to cry finally be silenced?

Would she no longer be the one left behind, the forgotten one?

Would she be?

Would she?

Would…?

She didn't know, and she doubted her friends knew about it (it drove her crazy, thinking about that). Because they didn't live life the way she did, counting each and every moment and heartbeat that signaled her small existence in a too-large world.

Because they didn't stuff themselves with handfuls of memories and shots of espressos to block out thoughts of death and darkness and light and the mere mention of _his_ name –Sasuke.

Uchiha Sasuke.

There was something hysterically funny about how just the mention of his name caused everyone to freeze momentarily.

Neji's face would harden, as would Shino's. Tenten and Hinata would start frowning. Lee would lose the shine in his eyes (if only for a moment), Shikamaru would sigh and moan, and Chouji would spit out his chips.

And then Naruto and Sakura would bleed a little more inside, trying their hardest to cheer everyone up so they would feel needed and distracted from the more morbid facts of life.

And that was why her eyes got that sleazy glint in them that was _thisclose_ to screaming out 'slut!' (but she really was still a virgin despite what everyone else thought of her, regardless of the degrading rumors that spread like crazy whenever she holed herself up somewhere).

But what she was saving herself for, she had no idea –had no clue –because at heart, she was used, as used as the whore that sold herself to drunk, balding men with ten kids and an overworked wife too busy for anything, much less sex.

And maybe she'd end up selling her body for every mission out there, having cheap sex just to get some quick info.

Because she could never imagine herself going out and trying to save Sasuke _all by her lonesome_ since she never was one to take such great a mission alone.

Because she needed support and trust and love and that feeling beyond love that no one had named yet.

And so here she was, sitting next to her _other_ teammate –the blonde one, Naruto –whose arm was in a sling and who was injured and who had risked _his **life**_ to bring back her other teammate –the one who lived on the moon.

Naruto smiled but then frowned, suddenly comprehending the fact that he couldn't eat ramen in his pitifully, bravely, painfully injured state

This was the boy –no, the man –who had promised her he would bring Sasuke back.

This was **Naruto** –who got happy over nothing and upset over everything (but was it the other way around?). And that was why she was giving him that look –the one she had been practicing for her first Cheap Sex For Info Mission so that she could take off the thought of the empty space, the missing person, the absence of Sasuke, between them.

And that was why she was bending over, trying to show as much cleavage as her damn shirt would let her while offering the blonde her service to feed him the meal of tasty noodles because according to her, eating was just too difficult when her stomach was clenching and aching all over from the hysterical _irony_ of it all –here she was, flirting _yet again_ with another shinobi, but this one wasn't coal-eyed or dark-haired –he was blonde and blue-eyed and whose saccharine scent was too clean, too pure to be tainted by the girl whom she had become. Because that girl had lost the identity she had once worn like a badge, a medal, a prize, a freaking _trophy_.

But little girls in lace dresses grow up and don't live in fairy tales anymore and so Sakura was glad when Sai popped up and broke the cheesy atmosphere as he stuffed half the ramen in Naruto's face and babbled about the many facets of friendship so she didn't have to do the deed.

Because no one, especially Naruto, needed to grow up as she had.

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Miles away, in a small room with two infamous people occupying said territory/room/etc., student faced teacher and student threatened teacher.

"You have no more to teach me, Orochimaru," Sasuke whispered, images of Naruto and Kakashi and Konoha and Itachi and –oh god, how could he have forgotten –Sakura flashed through his head, and he prepared himself for anything.

_Distance makes the heart grow stronger (or was it love?)._

Right?

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A/N: Spent all night doing this since the theme was stuck in my head and the picture of Sakura in chapter 343 in the manga sparked something in me as I was brushing my teeth. The overly long sentences were purely intentional, meant to bring out Sakura's thoughts, but other than that, tell me if you see any typos (since I hate proofreading my stuff and have yet to get a beta).

**Feedback, anyone?**


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